


Roses

by courteouswall



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, M/M, One Shot, Short & Sweet, or not so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courteouswall/pseuds/courteouswall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't really like roses all that much... [A one word prompt that I managed to turn into something dramatic.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roses

John had never been partial to roses. They seemed trite and overused in the landscape of love. So whenever Valentine's Day rolled around in the past, John had stood in front of the florist's stall, running nervous fingers through his short hair and tapping his foot in annoyance.

The roses were overrepresented and John never felt satisfied until he had ferreted out the bouquet of uncommon flowers that brought to mind the smile, the laugh, or shining personality of his girlfriend that year. Sarah was definitely daisies, Jessica was lilies.

John had never been partial to roses, until he met Sherlock. As the saintly day of love came and passed, John found himself imagining lush red petals laid against raven curls and smooth, pale skin. If Sherlock held roses in his thin hands, they would take on a new life and John would never see them as trite again.

John had wanted Sherlock to have a rose. But not like this, never like this. The resemblance of the flower to the stain across Sherlock's suit front was unmistakable. It was red against black and white, perfect contrast. And horribly foreign. John stood frozen until Sherlock's hands came up to grasp at the rose of blood, still opening, blossoming in the cool air of the London night.

And then John was on his knees, pressing down on the wound as he ignored the sounds of sirens and the groans of the prone criminals behind him. He realized that he had not been the first to give Sherlock a rose.

* * *

The nurse gently placed the single stem on the bed-side table of the hospital room. She gave it a small smile, before exiting the room and easing the door closed.

Sherlock's frown melted into a look of confusion. He held the flower up and inspected it in the golden light from the small hospital window. It was as near to perfection as could be achieved by a corner shop florist's rose. John had chosen well.


End file.
